So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near-- Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry." It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ." Yes, that is so," said the fox. But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince. Yes, that is so," said the fox. Then it has done you no good at all!" It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields.

He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.

To live is to be slowly born.

Charity never humiliated him who profited from it, nor ever bound him by the chains of gratitude, since it was not to him but to God that the gift was made.

Action and personal happiness have no truck with each other; they are eternally at war.

Nothing can match the treasure of common memories.

When one wishes to play the wit, he sometimes wander a little from the truth.